


Helping Hands

by zinke



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: Angst, Drunkenness, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-07-06
Updated: 2008-07-06
Packaged: 2018-09-17 06:12:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9308819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zinke/pseuds/zinke
Summary: Lee is dismayed to find his father much as he left him.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to Livejournal on January 17, 2010.
> 
> Written for chaila who, when I pointed out the parallels between the Lee/Adama/Roslin scene in Revelations and the Leo/Josh/Donna scene at the end of the West Wing episode Noel insidiously floated the idea for this fic. And though I wasn’t able to work Bill’s having a fear of rectangles into the story, I hope she’ll enjoy it all the same. 
> 
> Thanks, as always, to caz963 for the beta and the comma control, and to nnaylime for the encouragement and advice.

* * * * 

_This guy's walking down a street, when he falls in a hole. The walls are so steep. He can't get out. A doctor passes by, and the guy shouts up "Hey you! Can you help me out?" The doctor writes him a prescription, throws it down the hole and moves on. Then a priest comes along and the guy shouts up "Father, I'm down in this hole, can you help me out?" The priest writes out a prayer, throws it down in the hole and moves on. Then a friend walks by. "Hey Joe, it's me, can you help me out?" And the friend jumps in the hole! Our guy says "Are you stupid? Now we're both down here!" and the friend says, "Yeah, but I've been down here before, and I know the way out."_

_\- John Spencer as Leo McGarry, from The West Wing episode Noel_

* * * * 

With the immediate threat to the fleet now past, Lee hurriedly makes his way through the ship under the guise – and though he won’t admit it, the hope – of briefing the Admiral so that his father can resume his rightful place as military leader when the Cylons arrive onboard. Instead, Lee is dismayed to find Bill much as he left him: passed out in his rack, still dressed in the sweat-stained uniform he’d been wearing earlier. The only difference is the blood-stained towel that’s been wrapped haphazardly around Bill’s hand, and Lee can only surmise that at some point his father must have risen and tried to dress the wounds on his own. 

He hesitates in the entryway for only a moment before beginning to pick his way through the mess of papers and debris strewn across the cabin floor, a troubling reminder of Bill’s earlier devastating decompression. Reaching the side of the rack, Lee places a hand on his father’s shoulder. “Dad? Dad, you’ve got to get up.” 

Bill merely grunts in response and curls himself onto his side, shifting closer to the bulkhead. 

“Dad,” Lee says again, more insistent this time. “C’mon. Cottle needs to look at that hand.” 

“Is it over?” Bill finally mumbles, his words still slightly slurred – no doubt due to the alcohol he’d drunk earlier. 

Lee gently squeezes his father’s shoulder before responding. “It would seem that our situation has changed; Colonel Tigh and the others have given us what we need to find Earth. I’ve got Gaeta running course projections now.” 

Bill slowly rolls over onto his back but refuses to meet Lee’s eyes, choosing instead to stare blankly at the ceiling above him as he queries, “Others?” 

It is a dangerous question and one Lee is wary of answering; the sound of his father’s wrenching, broken sobs as he lay sprawled in his arms is still too fresh in his memory. Thirty-year friends they may not be, but the others are still his father’s people: his charges, his family, and their newly discovered duplicity will hurt him nonetheless. 

But unwilling as Lee may be to cause his father any further anguish, he has no real choice if the Admiral of the fleet is to be able to lead them onward, to Earth. And so he tells him, reporting the information as matter-of-factly as he is able. “Sam Anders and Galen Tyrol. Tory Foster is the fourth.” 

Bill says nothing, the only indication that he’s heard his son coming in the subtle tightening of the muscles in his jaw. The heavy silence that follows his disclosure makes Lee uneasy, and he shifts his weight from foot to foot as he searches for something – anything – reassuring to say. Eventually he falls back on what is most familiar to them, continuing his report as if he were still a pilot under the Admiral’s command in the hope that by doing so he will be able to place them both back on a more stable footing. “I’ve asked the D’Anna to shuttle over to Galactica so that we can find a solution that everyone can live with.” 

“You’re willing to bet the lives of our people – our future – on the word of those four frakking Cylons?” 

“Yes, I am,” Lee replies without hesitation, and suddenly his father is staring at him, his expression a mixture of shock, fury and pride. “And they’re more than just ‘frakking Cylons’ Dad. That’s the problem.” 

The fire in Bill’s eyes dies almost instantly. With effort, the older man pushes himself into a sitting position and scrubs his uninjured hand across his face. Slowly he stands, and without a word moves past his son and into the head, shutting the door firmly behind him. 

Releasing a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, Lee sinks heavily onto the edge of the rack and runs a hand through his hair, unconsciously mimicking his father as he considers what his next move should be. Despite the utter foreignness of the situation, it takes him less than a minute to decide on a course of action and, leaning across the mattress, he picks up the wireless handset and asks to be connected to sickbay. 

* * * * 

By the time Bill, swaddled in his bathrobe, emerges from the head, Lee has finished his call and is carefully pouring the second of two glasses of water. Wordlessly he hands one to his father before taking a long satisfying draught from his own glass. Bill settles himself stiffly on the couch, but does not drink; instead he absently twists the tumbler in his hands, his eyes focused on some point only he can see. Suddenly he winces, the restless motion immediately stops and Lee watches with mounting concern as Bill lifts his right hand, still raw and weeping, and studies it with an almost clinical detachment. 

“Cottle’s on his way.” Lee feels the force of his father’s reproachful gaze like a physical blow and despite having been on the receiving end of it more times than he can count, it’s all he can do not to look away and give in. “And I’m not taking ‘no’ for an answer.” 

Bill continues his silent assault but Lee resolutely stands his ground until eventually his father’s eyes lose focus and shift away and he drops his injured hand carelessly into his lap. “Whole thing’s a waste of time if you ask me.” 

It’s clear from his tone of voice that Bill is talking about more than just the ship’s doctor making a house call. But as much as Lee wants to convince his father otherwise – that despite it all there is still reason to hope – right now he needs to fight the battles he believes he can win. He’s stretched the odds thin enough today as it is, and there’s still such a long way to go. 

There’s a rap at the hatch and a moment later it swings open to allow Doc Cottle to step through, medical kit in hand. His face registers surprise as he takes in the chaotic state of Adama’s quarters, but his usual dour expression slides immediately back into place as his eyes come to rest on Bill and the bloodied hand cradled in his lap. “Someone want to tell me just what the hell happened in here?” 

“Not really, no,” Lee answers, stepping forward and motioning to the marines guarding the doorway. “The Admiral cut his hand,” he amends once the hatch has been secured, shutting them away from curious eyes and ears. 

“Any fool can see that,” Cottle grouses as he sets the medical kit on the table, flips it open and begins rifling through its contents. 

Reaching for his water glass, Bill grumbles, “Just get it over with,” in a voice as flat as his expression, before taking a deep sip. Cottle quirks an eyebrow and gives Lee a concerned look before seizing Bill’s hand and beginning his examination. 

Bill endures the doctor’s prodding in silence, but Lee can’t help wincing as he watches Cottle pull several embedded shards of glass from his father’s raw and reddened flesh. Bill’s apparent apathy is disconcerting, especially in the wake of his earlier explosive grief, and Lee finds himself struggling to reconcile the broken man sitting before him with the indomitable war hero he’s known and revered all his life. 

The buzzing of the comm system reverberates through the quiet cabin, but Bill makes no move to acknowledge or answer it, and it is this blatant display of indifference for a call to duty that frightens Lee more than anything else he’s seen from his father today. His eyes fixed on the Admiral’s slumped form, Lee crosses the length of the room and picks up the handset. “This is the President.” 

Dee’s voice carries over the line, alerting him to the now imminent arrival of D’Anna and her entourage, and Lee can’t help but breathe a sigh of relief that it is his presence, and not the Admiral’s, that has been requested; because in this moment, Lee realizes that his father is lost, adrift somewhere just beyond Lee’s reach. And he is dismayed to realize that despite all of his efforts, he hasn’t the slightest idea how to help him find his way back. “Thank you, Lieutenant. I’ll be right there.” 

Lee swivels to return the handset to its cradle, and when he looks back again he’s surprised to find Bill watching him impassively. “Admiral… Dad, I’ve gotta go,” Lee offers, hooking a thumb over his shoulder. 

Bill gives only a sharp, incredulous grunt in response before collapsing back against the couch’s leather cushions and shutting his eyes. Lee, feeling increasingly frustrated and helpless, watches his father for several moments before turning to Cottle and indicating with a nod of the head that the doctor should follow him to the hatch. 

“You’ll let me know?” Lee asks as he rotates the lock and pushes open the heavy door. 

“That hand looks worse than it is; it’ll heal. As for the rest of him…” Cottle glances back into the gloom of the cabin and shrugs. “It’s hard to say.” 

Lee fights back a sudden tightness in his chest as he considers the possibilities. “Yeah.” 

“I’ll make sure he’s got something for the pain, though I can’t guarantee he’ll take it.” 

“Thanks, Doc.” 

Lee steps through the hatch and makes his way to the main corridor, but is stopped by the sound of Cottle’s voice. “Oh, and Mr. President?” Turning around, Lee finds Cottle standing squarely in the doorway, his customary sardonic grin at odds with the seriousness of his expression and the hardened glint in his eyes. “Once this is over and you’ve got Laura Roslin back on board Galactica, you’d better make damn sure she gets her ass to sickbay as soon as possible.” 

Lee meets Cottle’s eyes and nods smartly, the slightest of smiles tugging at the corners of his mouth as he feels a bit of his wavering confidence beginning to return. He’s able to see the veiled support lurking behind the doctor’s abrasive tone; but what’s more, Cottle’s unwittingly reminded him that even though his father isn’t standing beside him, he’s not in this alone. And once their people are safely back on board, Lee plans to – with a little help – remind his father of that very same thing. 

 

*fin.*


End file.
